[Hook] I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, get yours [Verse 1: MC Breed (2Pac)] Aiyyo I'm Smooth as I wanna be, for p**y you's a gonna, G (Oh, that's the way it is?) f** yeah and that's the way it's gonna be (Why), puffin up on tha dank and drinking mad brew Taking names and after that I'm kickin a** too Breed, time to flow (can I get a rhyme to go) Hell yeah, Pac, I'll sit back, straight up design it slow They hate to see a young n***a, (come up) Another punk, (run up) and have to get his, (gun up) Cause um I ain't takin no shots Like a Newport fort, exploitin the floor like Jordan Explodin on the hoop court. And I don't wanna be, I-don't-wanna-be nuttin like Mike Cause even Mike was like it's a itsy bitsy wet triflin And when you in the spotlight, you get um jocked right But your knot's not tight Buckin anybody who f** wit' mine When will they realize? I'm straight out to get mine [Hook] I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, get yours [Verse 2: 2Pac] I keep my mind on my money, money on my mind Finger on the trigger, n***a, hand on my 9 Smokin' blunts a skunk, making holes in punks And only underground funk pumpin' outta my trunk Live the life of a hustler, high 'til I die Meeting b**hes, getting riches, miss me with lies Picture me living out my life as a busta I'd rather pop out a shot from my Glock and blast mothaf**as I live the thug life, baby, I'm hopeless Chokin' off indo, tryin' to keep my focus Don't let that bullsh** worry me f** the fame, I'm true to the game 'til they bury me God gave me game, so I'm hustlin' Pour out some liqour for my n***as, 2Pac is still strugglin' My n***a Breed knew the time Whether it's rhyme or crime, n***a, I gotta get mine [Hook] I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, get yours [Verse 3: MC Breed] Now, tell me Can you measure the amount of applause I keep gettin? Everytime I pick up a mic and start spittin The sidewalks of New York will start bumpin Jumpin around, with the motherf**in pound And I'm down to the fullest, and breakin n***as a** off proper Did I shock you, cause I got you in my pocket again Them new jacks and you jacks Who knew me and my n***as, when I used to run it way back when I boasted, and roasted, and coasted to the pinnacle Because of what I do with a pen It's vernacular precision Connect the two lines and it's division Plus, when I add lutes and flutes It's guaranteed to sell like prostitutes I never had love for hoes who put it blunt And want me in the back, but, b**h, I'm in the front! Don't front, and really I don't need a reply Pull yourself together as you pa** me by I'm on a whole another level, them hoes is left I told you before, keep ya p**y to yourself Goodbye, some many n***as lied to have Funny what a motherf**er do for math I got fractions caught up in my everday actions Point equal to your real satisfaction Buckin anybody who f** wit' mine When will they realize, I'm straight out to get mine haha [Hook] I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours I gotta get mine, get yours